Posted: January 25, 2012 in (Re)Memory, Love, Trials

she didn’t see it get hit
its wing sweeping circles painting the pavement red
spinning in a small circle a spinning grey circle with its wing
and its soft head

no one saw as she ran down the five wood steps
tea towel flung over her shoulder and her hands wiping dry on her cotton shorts
she ran out into the road not looking as her hand held up a sixteen wheeled truck
it’s a wonder what hands can hold up

holding them until she was sure until she was certain it was all gathered in her blue white terry folds
“it was like picking up air”  she said
she used wood satay sticks from her drawer
she ripped thin strips of batik with her teeth
a bit of her spit held its brokenness
“the best medicine” she said
and then careful in an old fedora hat its beak tucked in terry folds its eyes closed softer than anything

she tried to set it free every afternoon
she tried while standing ankle deep in a field deeper with summer
the wind tugging her dress against her thighs
her hair across her face, her lips resting on its smooth head softer than anything
for the longest time

then its grey wings flapping frenzied from her two hands a healed thing lifted into a cloud piled sky
her hand shading her eyes as she watched its grey wings flap rising away making circles above her making circles
for the longest time
only to settle back on my mother’s shoulder and she would say what she would say as she gathered it
in the summer field this softest healed thing







  1. Pants says:

    That’s beautiful!

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